#starry writing

[lucabyte]

Kill her, and you destroy the Universe.

[last-starry-sky]

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alpha!141 x omega!youtuber!reader

[MDNI – MIND THE WARNINGS: 2.5k, poly/pack!141, nothing nsfw, baby’s first omegaverse fic, (mentions of cycles/heats) pls be gentle.]

shorts

It was quiet in the little room. At least, as quiet as a room can be with four large men stuffed inside it. It was nothing special; just an unused office one of them had claimed as an ad-hoc rec room. This base’s rec was . . . okay, but it served all comers. It was too bright; too loud. Too many scents. Too many unknowns. It was just better this way, to be away from everyone else and around only each other.

Despite it’s size, it had slowly collected everything they needed: Soap’s gaming PC shoved in the corner, a recliner for their old man Captain to “rest his eyes” in. A collection of beat down, worn-in, chairs and couches curled around one wall. The perfect place to pile together at the end of a stressful day; to melt into each other’s warmth and scent, for their pack bond to silently strengthen. They wouldn’t call it a den, per se, but it was as close as they could get here. It was a place for the four of them to relax separate from the rest of the base. A place they could forget their bloody, awful work didn’t exist outside the concrete brick walls and dingy lights.

Though they had been working separately, they all had filtered in one by one over the course of the afternoon. Ghost had been first, sprawling in the middle of the jumble of couches in the most comfortable spot. He was absorbed in his phone, scrolling away as snippets of soft music and voices started and stopped, when Soap came in. They had given each other a tired nod, communicating all they needed as the other man plopped himself down in front of his computer. Ghost watched him while he sat back in his rolling chair, rubbed his eyes and groaned. He hooked a pair of old headphones over his head while he waited for his game to load. Ghost scoffed under his breath as he flicked to the next video. He didn’t understand how Johnny could spend all day either behind a computer or a gun, and then choose to relax to both of those things, but he had respect for the man so he let him be. At least he didn’t have to listen to digital gunfire and kids with scratchy mics anymore now that he had the headphones.

Gaz and Price rolled in together. Nothing new there. The stripped down scent of artificial musk and spice wafted in ahead of them. Ghost’s eyes wavered between the two men, down to his screen, then back up. Gaz was literally still wet behind the ears. Price’s shirt was damp where it pulled over his chest and under his arms. Oh. Humph. Had a shower together, had they? He gave the two the same tired nod as they strode in, letting his attention soften back into his phone as they found their places.

Price’s joints popped as he relaxed groaning into his ratty recliner, eyes falling shut as he breathed in deep, even breaths. Gaz chose to slide in next to Ghost, something he didn’t do often. He eyed his lieutenant nervously; big, brown doe-eyes raking over his closed-off form, carefully testing how close the other man would let him get.

Bloody fucking hell, he thought. Still acting all shy and shit? Ghost patted his shoulder, ripping off the band-aid. “Cm’on,” he mumbled with a jerk of his head that kept his low gaze trained on his screen, urging the sergeant forward. “Plenty’f room.”

He complied, pulling himself in close enough to fall against Ghost’s broad shoulder. Gaz relaxed into the larger man’s heat instantly, a low rumble purring out of his chest, his eyes falling closed. Ghost couldn’t help but smile, safely hidden behind his mask. Gaz always was the most tactile of the four of them; constantly seeking out heat and touch and giving it in return. If he wasn’t in need of both his hands at the moment, Ghost would have wound one around Gaz’s shoulders, blanketing him further in the comfort of his warmth and scent.

“Whatcha’ watchin’?” Gaz slurred out half coherently, pressed into the skin of his bicep and exhausted. Suddenly, his head lifted away from his arm. His eyes, already heavy with sleep, zeroed in on the video playing soft piano music in his hands. “She’s cute,” he commented, voice heavy. “Real fuckin’ cute.”

Ghost’s eyes snapped down to his phone. He lifted it to his eyes, squinting at the jumble of information crammed on the screen as the video replayed. A woman in fast motion was cleaning her room from the looks of it: stripping the soft pink sheets from her bed, throwing pillows, blankets and plushies to the side until the semi-circle mattress was bare. Both him and Gaz shared a low chuckle at how comical the speed of the playback made her actions look. The woman then got up on her bed, failing over and over to reach for the hook that held up the bed curtain until, with a jump, she finally grabbed it, flopping down onto the mattress with a cheer of success to the camera.

“Yeah. Cute,” Ghost agreed with a rumble, watching as the short finished with her trailing the long, gauzy curtain out of frame before popping back in front of the camera to smile and wave.

“Who is she? What’s her name?” Gaz asked, practically pushing himself into Ghost’s lap to get a better look at his screen, his fingers just brushing the side of the case as the video started replaying.

Ghost jerked his phone out quickly out of Gaz’s reach. “Cool it,” he warned. “Can find it m’self,” he said, staring Gaz down. He felt the smooth screen sliding beneath his bare fingers as he swung his arm back to his face.

Fuck, he realized too late. He had scrolled to the next video. She was gone, the two men realized with matching groans. Disappointed, Ghost still brought his phone up to his face. Happily, he was met with another video from the same woman. The two men sighed in relief together when they saw her smiling face. It was short lived. Silence fell, the room filled with only with heavy breathing and Soap’s clacking controller as the video played.

There was no music in this video. You walked out in front of the camera this time, your pretty, sleepy face and rumpled hair perfectly in frame. You scrunched your face, yawning and stretching in your soft loose PJ’s, your voice-over began as you started some sort of morning routine in fast motion in the video.

“Hi guys,” you cooed, sweet and gentle. Oh, your voice. Your voice was warm and sweet and comforting, like vanilla and cinnamon - like laundry fresh out of the dryer. You washed your face with a white hand towel, lotion smoothing over your skin quickly after.

Ghost felt Gaz’s cheeks flush against his chest, the choke of a soft, “oh” caught between them.

“Because my other short did so well, I thought I would make another one for all you lovely people!” you said as your other self brushed her hair. You were obviously happy, but your voice was toned down. Tired. “This is from my, um, morning get ready with me that I posted last week, if you couldn’t tell,” you said with an honest to god giggle.

“Fuck,” Ghost breathed against his mask, tensing his free hand, hoping to whatever higher power was out there that no one heard him.

“What’s got you two so quiet all of a sudden?” John mumbled sleepily. He popped his back as he stretched, not yet fully awake from his cat-nap.

Neither of them responded. Ghost was powerless to stop the video playing in his hands, the gentle sounds of plastic containers clicking against something hard out of frame continued in the background as you leaned in close, applying mascara. You batted your eyes for a brief second, drying them before dancing out of frame.

“Just simple makeup today: BB cream and . . . um mascara, because I filmed this right before work and I didn’t feel like being too done up. All the products I use are in the description of the original video, by the way, as always.”

Their Captain’s knee pushed into the couch, his hand on Ghost’s shoulder as he leaned in to watch. Price was beyond needing an invitation like Gaz. His presence was always welcome: warm, solid, and inviting. He was just in time to see you flounce back into frame with an outfit on a hanger: a long, soft gray sweater, black leggings, and fuzzy pink socks, then back out. Ghost didn’t need to look up to tell John was already entranced. The steel grip of his hand cutting into the meat of his shoulder was all the sign he needed.

“Don’t you just love those socks? They are SO much pinker in person, believe me. I was sad how dull they turned out looking in the video. But they are SO comfortable. I would wear them everyday if I could. Um, so yeah, just working and then doing some editing today, so I chose something comfortable but also nice enough in case I had a Zoom meeting. Always have to plan for those even though I hate them,” you said with a tired laugh.

The three men let out a collective groan when you stepped back in frame wearing your outfit. You did a little twirl, socks sliding across the beige carpet, before you stepped close to the camera again. Your face craned away; hands masking off the long column of your neck, showing off the three tiered necklaces you were wearing: a black tattoo-style choker, a short velvet ribbon with a star pendant hanging from it, and a long gold chain with a small heart-shaped locket.

Gaz kicked the back of Soap’s chair, knocking him forward hard enough for his headphones to roll off his head.

“SHIT!” he snarled as he turned. “Who fuckin’ did that? Gaz? The fuck-”

“Get over here now,” Gaz hissed at him, voice biting through the air.

Soap obeyed, scrambling onto the couch next to Gaz as your video came to a close.

“I love these necklaces too. Omg, look how they sparkle,” you squeaked. “I have the BEST light in this room. I’m so lucky. Someone asked me where I bought them and I honestly can’t remember! I’m sorry! I know they were all separate and I’ve had that long locket-thing for ages, so they might not even be available to buy anymore. Hit up your local antique and thrift stores though! If the scents don’t both you too much it’s a great place to find pieces like this. Ooo that’s a good video idea! How to de-scent second hand clothes? Let me know if you want to see that! Anyway, that’s all the time I have bye!”

The four of them sat in silence, pressed as close around the phone in Ghost’s hand as their bulk would allow, the video replaying. The mood in their ad-hoc rec room shifted like the tide. It was nothing dangerous, nothing concerning. Just the four of them, so attuned to one another, deciding within them on a single course of action. It was all internal, though; all within that basal, animal part left in them that made them alphas. The first to bring that reaction into their human brain was Soap. He sank sideways into the cushion of the sofa, smashing into Gaz, as he watched you flicker in and out of frame. He groaned when you held your hands up to display your necklaces for the fifth time.

“Nay any mark there,” he sighed, eyes still following you.

“Means . . . means she not-” Gaz rambled quietly, still entranced.

“No claim,” Price gritted out. The three other men groaned in tandem as he said it, something akin to a group howl.

“How?” Soap asked, scrubbing a hand futilely over this face as he tried to snap himself out of the cloud of testosterone filling the room. “How’s a pretty thing-”

“Pretty omega,” Ghost interrupted, plunging the room into silence once again. Soap was first to respond once again.

“No way,” he breathed, “You sure? How’d you know?”

Ghost flicked his thumb down the screen, interrupting you as you leaned in to scrub your face. The previous short began to play. “Look,” he urged, voice grumbling harsh and low, “Lookit the name of the video.”

They all squinted to make out the title in it’s tiny font. “Post-heat/post-cycle bedroom clean with me!” #nest #omegalife #omegasafe A jumble of sighs and keens, of possessive chest rumbles and hisses, rang out. They didn’t mean it. It was an instinct reaction that, even among the pack, they might have to fight one another for you flared before dissipating.

“Gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” Gaz breathed, speaking to no one in particular.

“She got other videos?” Soap asked, his hands reaching for the phone before Ghost snapped it away. “Cmon, Ghost. Just lemme look, please? Know she’s gotta-”

“Yeah, cmon, Ghost,” Gaz joined in, forcing the man to fend the both of them off with his arm, his phone curled protectively into his chest with the other.

Price was up off the couch in front of his three men as fast as his sore knees would let him. “Get a hold of yourselves!” he bellowed, snapping them to attention. Wide-eyed, they sat waiting for instruction. “We’re not gotta find shit about this girl fightin’ each other, actin’ like a bunch of dickless welps.”

Three, slow, “yes, sirs” followed.

“We’re a pack. We work together,” he said looking at each of them, hands on his hips. “We all want this one, right?” Price looked from man to man as they all nodded. “Then we have to be smart about it. We use all of our skills to help each other. Divide. Conquer. Reap the rewards. Sound good?”

“Then what’s the plan, Cap?” Gaz asked, breaking the knife-like tension of the room.

Price’s mustache twitched, his mouth squashed into a thin line of frustration as he thought. “First,” he finally said, “Ghost, send that channel t’ each ‘f us.” The large man immediately began tapping away at his phone. A buzz rang out around the room as a link landed in each of their messages. Price hummed in satisfaction before continuing. “Assignment f’ tonight is to watch through everything she’s uploaded. All of them. Take notes. Find what you can. We meet here tomorrow after breakfast for discussion and further planning.”

Soap made to stand up, his eyes glued to the pretty lady decorating the channel on his phone, but Price caught his shoulder; forcing the man to look him in the eye. “Don’t think I need to say this, but you three do not breathe a word about her to anyone else. This does not leave this room, understood?”

“Understood, Cap,” Soap said slowly nodding until Price released his death-grip on his shoulder.

“Good,” he said looking over at Ghost and Gaz still sunk into the couch. “See you all t’morrow then,” he said with a curt nod as he cleared his throat and turned on his heel. “I’ll be in my office.”

[starry-bi-sky]

i've mentioned in a few past posts about an au where Danny is a variant of Jason Todd. I haven't made a post about it yet because I need a good rhythm flowing however i've been listening to Gladiator by Jann and I have been having thoughts.

but first, let me set the au:

Danny Fenton is Jason Todd, or at least, a variant of him. A him from a universe separate to the major Batman timeline - but still Jason Todd, down to the structure of his face and his name itself. The only thing that changes, is who picks him up - and, that he follows old Batman canon, and was an orphan. Jason Todd steals the tires off the batmobile and wallops Batman with his tirejack, and then runs off. Shortly after, he gets picked up by the Fentons.

(Customary line break,,,, word count check: 5k)

And his name changes from Jason Todd to Danny Fenton. He doesn't care much for the new name change, it stems from his mute refusal to share his name to the people that picked him up; an attempt to make him untraceable should he get away from them, and to keep something of his to himself. So they name him something new. He grows to like it enough as he acclimates to his new family.

(He hangs onto the name Jason Todd like a secret - he may be 'Danny Fenton' now, but he'll never forget his time on Gotham's streets. He'll always be Jason Todd.)

(Jazz is the only one who he tells his name to in the family - she affectionately calls him Jay whenever she wants.)

He becomes friends with Sam and Tucker and deals with Dash and his bullying. And when Danny steps in during a fight between Dash and another student, Dash gives him a bleeding nose and mockingly says, "Do you think you're Robin just because you're from Gotham, Fenton?"

Jason looks him in the eyes and he bares his teeth, "Why not?" he asks, spitting blood, "being Robin gives me magic."

The nickname sticks. It's supposed to be an insult; Daniel Fenton is not Robin, he'll never be Robin. Not now, not in a million years. Jason Todd has always wanted to be Robin, so he takes the insult and wears it proudly. He buys a school varsity jacket and painstakingly undos the stitching of all the school's motif on it. On the breast of it, he embroiders in a black circle with the Boy Wonder "R" on it instead. It's not good stitching, but the next day Danny wears it down to breakfast and into school.

In normal au canon, Daniel Jason Todd-Fenton (its a mouthful, just call him Danny) only meets the Waynes after he becomes Phantom - an event that leans more towards Daniel Fenton's accident than Jason Todd's death, but traumatizes him all the same. (Is it too much to want to be mourned? His best friends like to deny that he died - and Danny - Jason? - wishes they wouldn't, even if he did come back.)

(The accident embitters him, even more when his parents don't seem to pick up on it. He stops calling himself Danny Fenton - he's always been Jason Todd. It shows itself in his ghostly form. He doesn't want to wear the thing he died in, not in something that belongs to the Fentons, and his suit reflects that.)

In this timeline, Daniel Jason Todd-Fenton, aged 13, meets Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne after a mishap with magic on the other end of the reality sends the three of them careening through time and space, and spat back out on the other end, in a world not their own. And together.

Danny is paired with a very confused Bruce Wayne and Richard Grayson. Luckily, there's a few heroes there to help them. Danny can hardly comprehend the idea that he's in another universe - he doesn't know why Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne are seemingly handling it well.

On their way to a secondary base with the heroes, Danny turns to Bruce Wayne and asks, "So, is it part of rich-person training that you're just totally chill with being sent into another universe, or are you just weird?"

Bruce Wayne huffs at him, rather than get offended, and he smiles that dumb lopsided billionaire smile that Danny's seen on every vogue magazine he's been in. "I'm not so worried with these skilled heroes here to help us get home."

Danny silently concludes that he's just weird. At least Dick Grayson is biting back a smile behind him. "Riiiight..." He says, dragging the vowel out dryly.

When they get to that secondary location -- a safehouse that one of the heroes had set up -- the three of them are sat in a living room-like room while one hero, Zatanna, goes and calls someone from the Justice League. The other two heroes stay with the three of them.

Within a few hours, Danny is face to face with Batman - someone who he hasn't seen since he whacked him in the stomach with a tire iron - and Nightwing. For a moment, Danny swears that the both of them look almost spooked by him.

Batman stares at him for a moment when he enters, and then he goes to speak with Bruce Wayne. Danny doesn't care enough to hear what they're talking about, he pulls out his phone as Nightwing goes to speak with Dick Grayson.

"Are you a fan of Robin, little man?" Someone says, and when Danny looks up he locks eyes with Dick Grayson -- who is leaning around Nightwing to talk to him, the both of them are smiling. And considering who Nightwing was, Danny finds himself turning pink to the ears.

But he will not hide his jacket. He forces a grin through his embarrassment, "Hell yeah, man, Robin's cool." He says, and pushes his arms down to pull out the hem of his letterman, showing off the emblem. "I made it m'self out of a school varsity after the A-Listers started callin' me Robin."

"A-Listers?"

"Popular kids," Danny corrects, loosing his hold on the hem and brushing invisible wrinkles out of the embroidery. "They didn't like that I kept stepping in when they were bullying. Dash asked me if i thought I was Robin because I was from Gotham."

Dick Grayson looks intrigued -- and concerned, and he leans forward onto his knees and raises an eyebrow. "What did you say?"

And Danny grins a shark-like thing, straightening back his shoulders with a burning sort of smug pride and all the sharpness of broken glass left in Crime Alley. "I told him being Robin gave me magic, and then I punched him."

Dick Grayson's smile widens, splitting into showing teeth as he leans back into his seat. Danny isn't sure why he's so delighted - but Nightwing looks incredibly amused, and he suddenly remembers that the Robin himself was there in front of him.

Danny's face burns anew and his arms fold themselves in front of him once again.

"I don't think I ever caught your name, Robin." Dick Grayson goes, his voice thick with laughter, and Nightwing steps off to the side as Batman and Bruce Wayne walk over to join them both. They're just close enough that Danny can see Bruce Wayne raise an eyebrow at them both.

"It's Jason." Danny says before he can think about it, and barely stops himself from frowning at himself for the slip. He amends himself, glancing over at Batman and Bruce as they get closer. "But everyone calls me Danny."

Dick Grayson's head recoils slightly, and he looks a little surprised. "Why Danny?" He asks.

"Why Dick?" He shoots back, and Bruce and Dick both smile at him, with Dick Grayson shrugging with an expression that looks like 'you've got a point.'

In the end, the three of them - yes, three - get sent to this world's Wayne Manor, and Danny is bewildered by that decision to include himself -- he's not a Wayne. Why not just send him to the Fentons?

Batman tells him that the Fentons don't exist in this world, and Danny falls silent. "Oh." He says quietly, a pit growing in his stomach with an ill-kind of dread. He can't keep Batman's gaze, looking away with unease.

No Fentons in this world. No Fentons. Where was he then, in the grand scheme of things? Where was he in this world? What happened to Jason Todd? Was he even alive? He can't keep the worry off his face, and he jumps when a hand lands on his shoulder. When he looks up, Dick Grayson squeezes him gently.

Dick Grayson is steadily beginning to remind him of his sister.

-

They end up driving back in the Batmobile. It's such a shock to Danny that he momentarily forgets the lack of Fentons. He makes a laugh sound, actually, and immediately he covers his hand with his mouth and stares at the car -- tank? with his teeth sunk into his lower lip.

"Jason?" Dick says, and hearing his name being spoken feels like someone touched him with a livewire. It's weird, it's foreign - he hates, in some way, that it's foreign - and it's so nice. Yes, that's me.

He drops his hand immediately. "Sorry." He says, realizing he'd stopped in his tracks, "I -uh, was just surprised."

"It's not every day someone sees the Batmobile." Dick agrees. Nightwing has his back to them but Danny swears he sees his shoulders shaking a little.

"Yeah," Danny nods slowly, dragging his eyes over the batmobile as Batman opens the driver's side and gets in. He thinks for a moment, of what he should say next - whether to admit that he's seen it before, or to pretend that he's seeing it for the first time. Snd as Nightwing opens the door for him, Bruce, and Dick, he chooses the funnier option; "The last time I saw it, I was stealing its tires."

To his surprise and unsurprise, Danny only gets two pairs of eyes on him. Nightwing gets into the passenger seat as both Bruce and Dick turn their gaze onto him; Dick's eyes big like they were going to bulge out of his head.

"You what!?"

So Danny tells an amazed Dick Grayson that he hit Batman with a tire iron after he stole his tires - something he is very proud about and also incredibly embarrassed about when he retells what happened in the backseat of the batmobile, with Batman and Nightwing listening in from the front seat.

(Bruce Wayne doesn't ever tell Dick shit, he's going to lord this over Bruce's head the moment they are alone.)

"Please tell me this didn't happen in this world." Danny groans behind his palms as he sinks into his seat. Dick Grayson is killing himself laughing on his left, and he saw Bruce Wayne stifling a smile before he obscured his vision with his hands.

Much to his luck, its Batman himself who speaks next, (Danny was being mostly rhetorical). "It did." He says, and his voice sounds like the rumble of the earth before a stampede. It will never not throw Danny off every time he hears it. "It takes quite a lot of spunk to steal the tires off the batmobile."

He can't believe it. Batman is making fun of him. Fucking, Batman.

He wants to die with embarrassment. He groans even louder as Dick Grayson's laughter crescendoes. Danny risks a peak through his fingers, he doesn't know whether to regret it or not because he can just barely see Batman smirk very faintly from his position in the middle.

(His world axis tilts five degree leftways seeing it; like someone dunked a bucket of ice water on him.)

"He ended up being adopted by the Bruce Wayne of this world."

Danny's hands drop with his jaw into his lap. Dick Grayson on his left chokes on his laughter and careens into a coughing fit. Bruce Wayne on his right chokes on air, and quickly recovers himself with a cough behind a closed fist.

"What?" Danny croaks.

-

Apparently, Bruce Wayne's family is much larger in this world than it is in his. Danny can barely wrap his head around the idea that he ends up adopted by the man, but now he has to learn that Wayne had several children in this world?

He's still not wrapped his head around it when the three of them wind up at Wayne Manor, finally, or even when he's standing in front of him himself. For his effort, Bruce Wayne does a good job at looking unruffled by it.

God, he's weird. Danny's starting to quite like it, actually. How human of him.

He still can't wrap his head around it when he meets the rest of Bruce Wayne's children, all of whom are already aware of the three of them. Danny thinks that someone from the Justice League might've alerted them before they got here.

It makes sense, he supposes.

It helps that they are just as weirded out as he is. A boy named Tim Drake sees him for the first time and blurts out; "Oh wow, you're tiny." In a tone like he's just seen a two-headed snake burst out of the ground.

Danny is still offended. He's still growing. It's not his fault he spent twelve years of his life malnourished. "I'm gonna be taller than you," he tells him seriously, "and when I do I'm gonna kick your ass."

Tim snorts at him.

The other Bruce Wayne -- Mr. Wayne's -- youngest looks at him up and down with a face of carefully controlled judgement. His name is Damian, he's Bruce Wayne's only biological son. Danny can't believe that there's only one.

If anything, Bruce Wayne himself looks surprised too.

"Todd, yes?" Damian says, his green eyes narrowed at him.

Danny feels like the specimen under his parents' microscope, he feels like he's standing on a platform that's being slowly spun by scientists. He looks over at Bruce Wayne in confusion, and then back at Damian. "I- yes?"

Damian Wayne nods, and then leaves.

Danny does not once see himself. That is unsettling in and of itself - surely Jason Todd would have been told about another version of himself in this world, wouldn't he? How old is he here? An adult, probably. Danny doesn't know if he wants to see him. What does he look like when he's grown up? He pulls his Robin jacket around him a little tighter, like a cocoon, like a shield.

"It's weird to hear them call me Jason Todd." He says aloud to himself, and it leaves a weight behind in his chest that shouldn't hurt the way it does. It shouldn't be weird to be called your name. It shouldn't cobweb up your throat to hear your name being said. It was his name. It was his.

-

Danny acclimates to the manor slowly. The house is big, massive. He's never been in a house so large before, he feels like a stray cat being taken in for the first time, again. He and Bruce and Dick Grayson are all given their own separate rooms - one of many inside this mansion - and the sheer size of his bedroom is bigger than his living room and kitchen combined.

it's daunting. Danny sits outside on the balcony and stares at the stars he can see - Wayne Manor is far enough away from Gotham that its light pollution doesn't obscure the sky here like it did in the heart of it.

Danny finds the constellations he can find and wishes he had his books with him. He finds the library the next day and buries himself in the back, curling up into a comfy armchair next and inhaling each book he can get his hands on.

Tim Drake wanders past him at some point, Danny would have missed him if it weren't for the fact that Drake stared at him strangely when he saw him. He walks away when he realizes Danny was staring back.

It's a rinse and repeat for the next few days. Danny doesn't go to meals, he sneaks food from the kitchen afterwards, and then buries himself in hundreds of books in the library.

Dick Grayson, the one from his world, goes and finds him three days later. Danny's eyes hurt with strain by then, but he is furiously halfway through a Jane Austen novel when Dick sits down across from him.

"Have you been here all day?" Dick asks, he drapes himself across the side of his chair, contorting himself into a position that Danny doesn't think is comfortable when he looks up at him.

Not that he looks up at him long - he hums absently and goes back to reading. Frowning when he realizes he lost his place on the page.

Dick Grayson raises an eyebrow, "Have you at least eaten anything?"

Danny hums. No, he hasn't, and he hadn't thought about eating all day. Until now that is, his frown ever deepening as his stomach pangs with a deep hunger.

"That's not healthy."

"Mhm."

"Are you going to eat something?"

"Mhhh."

And this gets Dick to frown. He straightens himself up, propping onto his elbows to stare at Danny. "Jason." He says strongly. And it's that that gets Danny to finally look up from his page, jumping like he'd again been poked with a live wire as he stares at Dick with wide eyes.

"Yes?"

"Put the book down." Dick orders, gesturing towards the side table next to Danny with a nod. "And come eat something." There's very little room for argument in his voice, he sounds like Jazz when she's trying to parent him, but instead he actually sounds authoritative. Not bossy.

Danny still frowns at him. "You're not the boss of me." He says, sinking back into his chair with a thumb bookmarking his page.

Dick gives him a look and makes a decisive noise, swaggling his head side to side while he does. "I'm pretty sure that for as long as we're here, me and B actually are the boss of you."

He's never really liked authority figures, not ones that tried to boss him around, that is. Danny doubles down, his lips curling into a shadow of a scowl. "Just because you're my brother in another world doesn't mean you can act like it."

"That's not what I mean and you know it."

"I don't want to go eat."

"It's not good for you to skip meals."

"Quit talking like Jazz."

"Danny."

Danny sinks his teeth into his lip and scowls darkly at him, shrinking into the back of his armchair in hopes that it'll swallow him whole. The idea of going into that large fucking dining room fills him with a dread that makes him completely forget his appetite.

"Your fucking- dining room is- it's too big." He grits out, finally closing his book and hugging it tightly to his chest.

Dick blinks at him. "What?"

"You heard me! It's too big. This whole place is too big. It's- what do you even do with this much space? I don't know how this- other me ever lived here."

Dick Grayson surprises him, and his expression softens. "Oh," he says, "I get it."

"You do?" The tension bleeds slowly out of Danny's shoulders

"Yeah, I felt the same way when I first moved in with Bruce. I lived with the circus for most of my life, but I slept in a trailer." He says. And he talks more.

The end result of their conversation ends with Dick Grayson offering to let Danny sit across or next to him during mealtimes, and that he can talk to him if he starts getting uneasy. But he can't keep skipping meals - it was making them all worried.

Danny agrees, and Dick takes him down to the kitchens for food.

"They look at me weirdly too." He grumbles as they leave the library, Danny's book returned to the shelf where it belonged. When Dick looks at him curiously, he scrunches his nose up. "The - your other siblings. They look at me like I'm- I'm someone else. S'weird."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Dick asks, "You are someone else."

Dany shrugs, staring at the ground with a heavy frown. "I don't know."

-

Danny seeks out Dick more after that. And vice versa. Dick reminds Danny of Jazz, and he latches onto the familiarity like a leech. If Dick is bothered by it, he doesn't show it, whether he's talking to his other world's self, to the Bruce's, or to one of the other Wayne kids.

Damian Wayne seems particularly keen to seek him out, Danny finds. He thinks it means that they're close in this world, and that Damian wants to see more of what a young Dick is like. That's what he would do, at least.

He takes up on Dick's offer of seating near him during dinner, and finds an open spot across from him. Unless he has something to show him, then he sits next to him.

("You can call me Jason." He tells him one day when they're in the Wayne's massive, fuck-off gym and they're both climbing over the jungle gym. Dick's showing him how to be more flexible. It's the most Danny's worked out ever, he likes the burn it gives him.

Dick looks at him in surprise, "Really?" he's doing a handstand on the bars and Danny's more than a little jealous at his balance.

"Yeah, dipshit," he says, rolling his eyes, "I'll even let you call me Jay, it's my nickname."

Dick happily takes him up on that offer, and much to Danny's embarrassment, starts calling him Jaybird. All because of his stupid Robin jacket.)

Danny has yet to meet his other self still, it's scaring him a little. Where was he? And matter of fact, how long until he could go back to his home dimension? The three of them hadn't gotten any updates since they arrived.

Speaking of, he was starting to talk to Bruce more, it was just... strange. Even stranger than talking to Dick. Bruce Wayne in another life would have been his adoptive father, Danny can't wrap his head around it for the life of him.

Whatever did Bruce Wayne see in Jason Todd that made him worth adopting? He's too afraid of the answer to ask. They start talking more after they run into each other late at night. Danny had been hit with a bout of insomnia and was going to the library.

He ran into Bruce on the way. He was just.. staring, out the window, with a faraway look in his eye. He didn't even look startled to see Danny standing there.

Danny asks him if he wants to go to the library with him. It was out of panic. He isn't expecting Bruce Wayne to agree, and they walk there in suffocating silence. Danny keeps looking at him from the corner of his eye.

("You're staring?" Bruce doesn't sound upset, Danny jumps anyway.

"Yeah, sorry." his voice sounds stilted, "it's just..." his jaw wires itself shut for a spell, "...you looked like you were about to disappear."

"Ah.")

When they reach the library, Danny leads Bruce Wayne into the science section and takes out books upon books about stars. He leads him over to the armchair and fire and they both sit down on the ground.

"When I lived in Gotham I would stargaze." Danny says, it's the first thing he can think of. Bruce Wayne looks at him quizzically. "Well, I would try to. The sky's too polluted for that. Mostly I would just watch the skyline and try and spot Batman and Robin, was the same thing."

That cracks a smile out of Bruce. It's a small one, barely there. "I hardly think the two are comparable."

Danny is still serious. "Not to me."

He goes on, talking about how after he was adopted he got his hands on every star book he could find. He loves english and he loves to read, but something about the stars drew him in like a song. He rambles about every star fact he knows with Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Wayne surprises him by telling him facts he didn't know. Danny soaks it up like a sponge, listening intently to him speak. And when they run out of star books to talk about, Danny tells Bruce that it was his turn to find something for them to talk about.

Bruce Wayne smiles again at him, a sly little thing like Danny's challenged him, and gets up. He comes back with a stack of film books, and they spend the next few hours going through them. Bruce Wayne rattles off every single movie fun fact he knows, and there is so much that he knows.

Danny is in awe, and moves to press against Bruce's side to see the stuff he points at in his books.

"You're smarter than people give you credit for." He says at some point, when his eyes hurt from being open for too long and his head leans against Bruce's arm for support. It follows with a jaw-cracking yawn that he tries and fails to stifle.

"Thank you, Danny." Bruce says, his voice soft and soothing and not helping with Danny's weighing exhaustion. His eyes drift, and then jerk open. "Do you want to go back to your room? You look tired, chum."

He bites back a smile at the nickname, and fails to keep it bitten. "No, no, I'm awake." He mumbles, shaking his head slowly. "I wanna hear-" he yawns again, "-hear you talking."

Danny swears he can hear the smile in Bruce's voice as he speaks; "Alright. Now, where was I?"

In the end, Danny falls asleep on the floor of the library next to Bruce Wayne. He doesn't even realize it until he wakes up the next morning. But it's not to worry, Bruce Wayne fell asleep too, an arm thrown around Danny protectively like he was his own kid.

This becomes a thing for them soon enough. When neither of them can sleep, they go to the library and talk and talk about whatever comes to mind.

There comes the dreaded night after they've finished whatever book they were looking at when Bruce, the little shit, turns to Danny and goes; "You never mentioned what happened after you hit Batman with a tire iron."

Danny groans, big and dramatic, burying his head in his arms, and ignores the low chuckle. "I thought he was gonna chase me down for sure." He complains, his voice muffled by his arms.

"Why did you hit him with a tire iron?"

The look Bruce gets is one of pure disbelief. "If Mothman suddenly showed up behind you while you were taking the wheels off his ride, you'd hit him too!"

"Last time I checked, Mothman isn't real." Bruce told him amusedly, and Danny flops over onto his back to stare him down. His arms sprawl out like a starfish, intentionally hitting Bruce in the shoulder.

"You don't know that, Batman's a cryptid and he's real."

Bruce roars with laughter, and Danny preens like a bird.

That next morning when Bruce passes by him for breakfast, he reaches over and ruffles his hair. It's the same thing he does for Dick every morning. It's the first of many, and it gets many stares from the surrounding family.

Bruce has a newspaper tucked under his arm, and when he sits down Danny stands up and skedaddles over to him, leaning over the side of his chair to peer at the paper.

"Any cryptids spotted, Buzz?" He asks, getting a startled laugh out of Bruce, who looks up at him.

"Buzz?"

"Well, yeah," and Danny states it as matter-of-fact. He gestures his head at Dick Grayson. "Dick calls you 'B', and B is for bees, and I can't just call you Bees, that's dumb. So; Buzz."

He grins triumphantly when Bruce laughs quietly, his shoulders shaking imperceptibly. "I know," he tilts his head up proudly, "I'm a genius."

Now he's actually laughing, dropping his head into one of his hands and trying to quiet himself as much as possible. Danny is positively beaming, ignoring the stares of the other Waynes as he flounces back to his seat just as the other Mister Wayne enters the room.

-

When Jason Daniel Fenton Todd meets Jason Todd for the first time, they both just stare at each other.

Danny recognizes himself immediately in the library, and he freezes up. His tongue ties to the roof of his mouth, and he's unsure of what to say.

He doesn't need to say anything at all, because when Jason Todd looks up and they lock eyes, they both just stare. And stare. Jason Todd is a large, hulk of a man, built like a brick shithouse, with a tired, traumatized look in his eyes and a white streak in his black curls. The same black curls that Danny himself has.

He has no idea what to say. Or if he should turn back around and leave.

Jason Todd sighs at him, "I know they told me you and another world's Bruce and Dickie were here," he says, but it sounds like he's talking to himself. Even moreso when he mutters half-heartedly, "-but I was hoping I wouldn't run into you."

Danny feels small next to him. He doesn't know why. "Sorry." He says lamely, his one foot skips back, "I can leave if you want." It's unlike him to be meek, he thinks. Not after years of Gotham living and dealing with the likes of Dash and his Jerk Jocks.

But this also isn't the streets, and this isn't other kids being dicks. Jason Todd shakes his head, and gestures with one large arm for Danny to come over. "You don't need to do that, you were coming to read, right?"

He nods, and tentatively makes his way over. When Jason looks at him, he sees him cast his eyes over his Robin jacket - he wears it everyday. Danny sees him narrow his eyes, just slightly. But he says nothing.

It's... a strange conversation. Interaction. Jason Todd doesn't talk to him much, and if he does it's stilted and awkward, like he doesn't know how to treat him. Like he's holding him at arm's length.

Jason's getting tired of being treated like a ghost.

They talk about their books. They compare lives. Jason Todd was picked up a few days after he stole the wheels of the batmobile. He wasn't an orphan, he lived with his mom and his stepdad before he lived with Bruce. They both like to read, only Danny has an interest in the stars.

("What do your adoptive parents do?" Jason Todd asks him, one arm slung over the back of the armchair, he looks relaxed. He looks tense. Danny feels like he's back in Crime Alley again.

"They're 'ectologists'." He says, making air quotes over the word. He rolls his eyes, "Ghost hunters. They study the dead and all things afterlife."

Jason Todd makes a dry laugh huff, a sarcastic half-smile on his face. He doesn't explain why he does, Danny doesn't ask why. It doesn't seem like his business.)

Danny wants to ask him where he got that white streak in his hair. It doesn't feel right. It feels like his parents' lab, and that isn't right. Nothing ever feels like his parents' lab.

Jason Todd leaves first after giving him a few book recommendations. Danny isn't sure how to rate the experience. Being in Jason Todd's presence was like standing in a liminal space. An empty parking lot at night. When he leaves it feels like much the same thing.

He struggles to read his books afterwards, unable to shake the feeling of being haunted.

[occasionalsnippets]

could you imagine the chaos of FD!MC dating? like if its a civi they just break up cause batfam blackmails them, but if its a hero the amount of 'i know who you are so im not breaking up ' situations would be chaotically funny. and if MC was dating an older hero cause ✨parental issues✨ or if MC was to sit there and flirt with one of the villains as a last resort and batfam had to watch 😂 the reactions of 'hey thats my sibling/child(/stable parental figure?)'

(oops got a bit derailed)

Taglist: @dragondevinity, @lonely-star2044, @sheep-from-rad, @ilxandra, @thethingwiththefeathers, @star-wars-lycanwing-bat, @sackofsadstuff, @zonked-times, @paastaboi, @venfia, @fantasy-angelo, @linaisadream

Your PR team is very dedicated to pushing the image of "Gotham's sweetheart". You aren't willing to play as ditzy as "Brucie Wayne" but having a public persona is helpful, especially when business partners (victims) come to make deals with you expecting someone soft and kind and easy to run over but find themselves facing (Y/n) Drake. It's funny how they've all forgotten how your mother was before she died.

Regardless, to the public eye, you're gentle, caring, and most importantly, unobtainable.

...You could've done without the last part. You aren't sure who sneaked it in but you bet it was Tim, you just don't have evidence for it.

For the most part though, it's fine. You're disinterested in dating and there are way too many issues going on in your life (Batman, Robin, past life memories, etc) so it worked in your favour.

And then you hit 18 and become a prize.

"Gotham's sweetheart," people titter. "Young, impressionable, if you can get them, you can get Drake Industries."

Non-Gothamites really don't understand what they're getting into.

Despite that, you flirt. You tease. Use it as a tool though with what your PR team is doing with your reputation, it comes across more accidental than anything else. But, you don't really date. There's no one you're interested in and anyone interested in you for less than savoury matters will find themselves warded off by your brother and the other Waynes sooner or later.

As for dating heroes, the older ones are too old and the ones your age are too young. Sure the age gap with the older heroes might not matter in 10 years or so but if anything happened now, there will probably be repercussions.

[frxggie-baguette]

[melverie]

Listen, if you were to push Lucifer down on his back, then pin his arms above his head and sit down on his stomach as you smirk down at him, he WILL short circuit so hard that his pride will be temporarily deleted from his brain

For the next century or so, his gaze will continue to hold nothing but complete and utter reverence for You and only You. He will look at You like You are beauty and holiness and perfection incarnate, as if the only purpose of the stars decorating the night sky above—and by extension, the only purpose of the morning star himself—was to bear witness to Your allure and charm. To the brilliance of Your existence

Compared to You, his father has been nothing but a false idol all this time

Also if you lie down on his chest & raise your head just high enough that he can't kiss you he will start to vibrate at 900 miles per hour proof: I'm the skeleton in Luci's room

[eternalstarlitwonderland]

Stellaum ~Into The Starlight~

This Is an AI song for my Stellaum ~Into The Starlight~ poem

[beccawise7]

What a privilege to read the stories of the stars, when so many are no longer able.

~beccawise7💜🖤

[sobredunia]

they vibin :]

don't worry about that last one don't worry about it

taglist for the creators and AUs of the characters in the animation under the cut!

Kanako from UNDERTALE ROM LEAK by @keksalot404

Ceroba from Underfell yellow by @pantamonte

Chujin from Undertale gold by @s0ckh3adstudios

Dalv from Vitale Yellowfell by @stringsbasement (i want him so bad. i'm sorry)

Sirius by @here1snyan i'm sorry for massacring your boy but there's no way i'm doing all those gradients and effects consistently in every single frame

Axis from the StarryScreenBuddy AU by @therealcallmekd

(the reason why the end was censored is bc it's heavy lore spoilers of an AU a friend is making, and she doesn't wanna reveal it just yet. it's redswap by @fuji-iri btw. i love mentally ill people who would rather die than admit they're experiencing grief)

oh also art taglist

@rotkad @butchlesbianyaoi @blackfright @beetroot-merchant @ashs-hellhole @h3xt0r @bree-sae @helloidkwhatimdoing-0 @zecrisketch

[pollyannawog]

Now that it's finished: all the illustrations I made for my Kieranpon fic ✨✨

Original AU by @shima-draws

[shunrehihosumedha]

“I love lilies. Blue lilies but they are so hard to find…”

Were the words that he told me the moment I asked him what he adores the most. It took me a while to make his vision my reality and I am so happy how it turned out.

I know his admiration and love for Vincent Van Gogh, and how he collects every little piece that he finds that resonates with the artist. Because of his biased nature for Vincent’s aesthetics and of course his love for lilies, I crocheted Starry Night themed lily bouquet for him, with two sunflowers that resonates the moon and frame of the painting.

I know he will love this more than anything and I hope to make him smile just the way he will when see these flowers I made for him.

[last-starry-sky]

this hungry thing inside me - pt. 1

price x reader - gaz x reader

[MDNI - NSFW - MIND THE WARNINGS: 4.7k, established relationship (price and reader are married), domestication/traditional gender roles, price is a good man but occasionally a terrible husband, relationship problems, arguments, mentions of manipulation, alcohol and smoking mentions, infidelity, dry-humping, kissing, biting, dirty talk, begging, fingering, oral, edging, reader is assuming the worst of her husband through-out most of this part with minimal self-reflection so have fun with that!]

Title is from THIS poem - also, happy 600 followers to me! 🥳

It’s a tragedy in three acts.

You love your husband and you know he loves you. That was given, unquestionable, the foundation you built upon. You wouldn’t have married him if that wasn’t true. That was the form of the first tragedy. Somewhere along the way, in the long years growing more and more familiar with each other, of planning your futures, of just living life, you grew complacent. Bored.

The walls of the nice little house his promotion had bought for the two of you was meant to be your freedom. That’s how he had framed it.

“Know you didn’t have to work anymore if you don’t want, love. Can do whatever you please now,” your husband had said soothingly that first night as he held you in his arms once the passion between you had cooled to a simmer. “Take care of me ‘n the house,” he paused before continuing, “kids, too,” he said with a small laugh, “when we finally get around to makin’ ‘em.” There was a long pause between you. You watched as the gauzy curtains blew lazily in and out. You house breathing in the cool summer night air. “Won’t have to worry over you when I’m away. I’ll know you’ll be here, safe,” he mumbled, a bristly smooch tickled your ear, making you smile. “I’ll be home more now, too.”

“Promise?” you whispered into the dim, blue light of your bedroom. The fumes of new paint wafted up from downstairs. The smell of new beginnings, of hope. He squeezed your hand.

He promised.

You took his offer but, just like any offer that seemed too good to be true, there were catches. You had kept up your end. You quit your job, taking up typical housewife activities: cooking homemade meals, scrubbing baseboards, going for early morning walks followed by falling asleep on the couch to some trash afternoon TV drama. All the usual things. It was John that couldn’t keep his end. While you tore through novels trying to keep from texting him for the fifth time when he would be home, he was just gone.

His new position kept him busy with confidential work most of the time, which also kept him on base. Strangely, you could have dealt with that. You could have grown used to feeling him slip in bed late at night and leave before breakfast the next morning. His job was important to him. He was respected. Most importantly, it afforded you a life most would cut their arm off to have. So, you tried to be patient. Grateful, you told yourself. You should be grateful for the snippets of time you were able to share. Even though he was dog-tired most of the time, spending long hours relaxing on the couch or sprawled across your bed.

You let yourself become a new thing entirely: soft and plain and domesticated. John, though, John remained the same. He still returned home with rough hands and skin tanned from days under an aggressive, blinding sun. Black grease and gun powder wore into the cracks around his eyes, and, most worrying to you, scars collected across his body. He told you when you met that men in his line of work had to be half-crazy to make it; adrenaline junkies, nomads, and it hurt you that he still lived like that. He was your husband, but he was a warrior too. A man without a home; without a reason to live.

You stopped doing things together almost entirely. You cooked dinners for one and ate them alone. You went to the shops alone. You worked out and wandered the city alone. As John put so eloquently in one of your arguments: “You’ve all the time in the world to do that shite when I’m not here. Why are you nagging me on my days off?”

An image came to mind when he said that. The image of the ball-and-chain, of the frazzled, ungrateful housewife, seared into your mind with his words. It rattled you so much that the argument stopped right there, dropping it as you walked away into the kitchen, leaving him alone in the living room. You didn’t want to be that to him. Couldn’t stand even thinking of it. If that’s how he felt, you told yourself, then . . . then you would stop nagging him. It was a bitter pill, but you swallowed it because you loved him. You cared about what he thought of you. The last thing you wanted was to drive him away now with your petty little problems. You loved your husband, you told yourself as you lay awake in the dark, so you pulled away. You threw away your “honey do” list. You deleted websites saved with holiday plans. You did your part. You stopped bothering him.

John relegated himself to the guest bedroom that night while you waited upstairs, wiping away the bitter, intermittent, tears that streaked down your face. You waited for the sound of his footsteps as they creaked up the stairs, for the door hinge to whine, announcing his entry. If he was good at anything these days, he was good at apologizing.Not with words, naturally, but physically. What John lacked in social skills he made up for with stamina and determination. It was hard to continue a fight with his face between your legs and you couldn’t stay angry for long at a man who could chain together orgasms like he was pulling taffy. Fucked out and sated, you would wake the next morning all the more forgiving and happy.

There was a creak downstairs. Footsteps. The TV turning off. Your heart began to race the second you heard it. You lay still in bed, facing the window as you continued to listen. More footsteps, but they were toward the front of the house. The opposite of where he should be heading. Shuffling. Soft thumping. The shuffling of a coat. The jingle of keys. You held your breath in the quiet dark, unwilling to face the truth of what your senses clearly told you was happening.

The door opened then closed softly. The deadbolt slid into place. Then, silence. Dreaded, nerve-fraying, silence. A few minutes later, long after you knew he had left, your phone vibrated at your side. A message from John. The first one you’d received unprompted in a long time.

“Lads invited me out for a drink. Be back later.”

-

Action and reaction. That’s the form of the second tragedy.

What’s the saying? “Don’t get mad, get even.” Whatever it was, you thought as you artfully lined your eyes, that was your new mantra. You stared into the vanity mirror and saw a new woman staring back at you. Not the old you, not the happy, professional woman always smiling next to her buff, military husband. No, you were a different animal entirely now. Newborn from the cocoon of the drab, boring housewife he’d transformed you into. You were reformed from months of dishpan hands and laying about on the couch. You would no longer allow yourself to crumble away, mentally and physically. You blotted your lipstick and gave yourself one last look in the mirror before you stood up.

If John couldn’t see how hot his own wife was, then you weren’t going to waste your time chasing after his attention anymore.

You wouldn’t lie. You felt guilty as hell the first few times you went out alone. Guilty that you’d left the little bubble of safety he’d constructed for you. The one he’d abandoned you in and visited rarely. Guilty that you left your wedding band and engagement rings in your jewelry box. Guilty that you were having fun on your own, letting the alcohol melt away the awkwardness of standing shoulder to shoulder with strangers in a strange bar. The music was good though, and so was the beer. You remember snippets of conversations, carrying on with the bartender, whomever was seated next to you, the girls fixing their makeup in the bathroom. You felt young again. Carefree and untethered. You remember leaving, walking home along the dark streets. The thick, syrupy, ball of happiness you’d built all night suddenly plunged into cold water, forming a hard, cracked surface as you steeled yourself at the front door.

John could be in there, you thought. He could be angry. Worried. Disappointed.

You pushed the door open. The empty hook where his coat usually hung and the space where his shoes sat in the hall the first two places your eyes nervously landed on. Empty, you saw. Still gone. Still alone. You checked your phone for the hundredth time that night just to be sure you hadn’t missed a call or text. Nothing. He didn’t know. He didn’t care. You had gotten away with it.

Was that a stupid way to look at it? Absolutely. The more you thought about it, the more ridiculous you felt. You were a grown woman. You could go out without your goddamn absentee husband’s permission. So, you did. You tried to make yourself irregular, harder to track. Random times, days of the week, always a different bar in a different part of the city. Sometimes you even hopped on the train to see what the adjoining towns had to offer. You always came back at the end of the night though, giddy with alcohol and buzzing with excitement, but home. A drip of guilt rolled down your spine. Yours and John’s home.

Still, before you left you would stand in the hall, hand still on the doorknob, keys in your other hand. This was the first hurdle, something within you told you. A part of you that knew better, probably, expected more. A part of you that looked and acted a hell of a lot like your husband. It asked you: If you had known where this road would lead you, this journey of revenge and self-discovery, would you have still done it?

You finally answered that question when you let your first hookup take you back to his place. In between sloppy kisses laced with the alcohol you’d let him buy you and the nicotine he’d shotgunned down your throat in the alley outside, you’d managed to string two brain cells together to tell him enough. He’d agreed quickly. Being under the same influences as you plus the aching erection he pressed against your jeaned thigh, it was a no-brainer.

You followed him back to his apartment, a nice little flat only a few blocks away, wrapped around him the whole way. It wasn’t until then that you realized how much touch you craved. John had been distant since his promotion. Sex had become less spontaneous, less fun. His lingering touches disappeared and the almost daily lovemaking had slowed from a stream, to a drizzle, to drops, before shutting off entirely. Now that you had another man, and a stranger at that, returning your nuzzles against his chest with loving strokes of strong, rough fingers through your hair, you could have sang. Could have cried.

He asked you what you wanted once he got you inside. Deliriously fuzzy and half-drunk, you were confident. You asked him to undress you and he followed your instruction without question. You closed your eyes and drank in the feel of his calloused palms against your skin: the way he reverently kissed your neck when he tossed your blouse to the floor, how he squeezed your ass in both hands after peeling your pants down your thighs.

“Bet your pussy tastes as good as you look, luv,” he breathed in your ear as he ground his trapped cock against the soaked silk of your panties. You whined, pulling him out of your neck by his short curly hair to stick your tongue down his throat. You couldn’t remember the last time John had talked to you like that and fuck me if you couldn’t get used to it.

“’s that what you want?” you slurred, hands roaming boldly up under his shirt. He had a gorgeous body from what you could feel; all planes of hard muscle from his groin up to some nicely defined pectorals. His biceps bulged under the grip of your wandering hands, making you flush as he groaned. His fingers wound in the fabric hugging your hips, threatening to use just an ounce of that strength to rip them away, to be done with it already.

“I want . . .” he said, lingering to a pause as he pulled away. His brown eyes half closed as he ran his hands appreciatively up your curves. Even in the weak city light, mostly blocked out by haphazardly-drawn blinds, you could see the warm brown of his skin. His hands stopped under your bra. Whatever thought preoccupied his mind until then had run through, prompting him to lean back in and place a kiss on your clavicle.

“Want whatever you want,” he said as he pulled away, trailing a line of kisses back up your neck. You were putty in his hands, uselessly moaning, pinned between him and the wall as you let him touch you as he pleased. “I’s just . . .” he trailed off again, hand swiping up your clothed pussy, making you squeak. “You’re actin’ like you haven’t been touched in years, luv,” he breathed against your ear with a biting kiss. God did you wish he wasn’t so bloody close to the truth.

You thought you saw sparks behind your eyes as he hitched your leg up around his hip. He effortlessly supported you, letting you wind your arms around his neck.

“Can’t have that,” he said soft yet authoritative, pressing a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. The tickle of his mustache faintly reminded you of John. You whined, rocking forward, searching blindly for pressure; for any relief for the need throbbing hot and wet between your thighs. He kissed your cheek, then your nose.

“Now now,” he soothed gently, a hand cupping your flushed cheek. “Stay with me. Tell me what you want,” capping his sentence with a kiss that sucked your top lip between his teeth. You groaned at the difference between the sharp pain of his teeth as they nipped again and again at your lip and his bubblegum-soft words filling your head. The way he held you so sure and strong but wouldn’t take anything from you. Not until he was told.

You didn’t think they made guys like him anymore. Your half-drunk brain swirled as he paused, the two of you breathing the same air. How the hell had you gotten so lucky?

“Kyle,” you breathed, light and airy. Your arms flexed around his neck, pulling him closer. “I’m so close,” you whined pitifully, eyebrows pressing together. “However you want to do it, just please,” you trailed off with another whine. His hands pressed divots into the soft flesh of your hips, a small betrayal of his slipping control. You sucked in a shuddering breath, willing yourself to continue; to get it all out. “Then . . . then I want you to fuck me,” you rambled out, tears welling up every time you blinked. He looked down on you with dark satisfaction, a pleased hum vibrating between his lips. “I need it. Fuck, do I need it, Kyle. Whatever you want. I can take it,” you begged against his lips, voice cracking. “Promise.”

-

You walked home wrapped in a daze, only noticing Kyle had left you a few blocks later. It took another block or so to piece everything together: he’d kissed the top of your head, squeezed your shoulders in a hug, asked you something you barely remembered, then pushed you forward across the crosswalk alone. You looked around, strands of sweaty hair itching at your skin. From the landmarks and style of houses you guessed you were near your own neighborhood. The functioning part of your brain kept your body walking on autopilot, forcing yourself forward. The rest of your mind was still occupied, reliving the wonderful night you’d just passed with him. With Kyle.

He’d given you exactly what you’d wanted, no further begging required. Pinned between the wall and his warm body, his strong fingers had efficiently worked an embarrassingly quick orgasm out of you. Boneless and panting against the cool wall, he’d chuckled into your neck; leaving little love bites as he waited for you to come down from your high.

“’s all you got, luv?” he’d goaded, gently stroking your already sweat-slicked thighs, “Tappin’ out already or are’y ready f’ more?”

Your hands around his neck weakly grabbed at his head, nails barely catching the close shaved curls at his nape. It was only now that you realized he must have been acting, just letting you think you’d pulled his head out of your neck in order to speak face-to-face.

“More,” you’d groaned, no bite left to your voice, as both of his hands palmed your ass to lift you away from the wall, “Need it.”

The street names became more and more familiar as the sun broke through the clouds, scattering the early morning fog. Around and around you traveled until you came to the familiar turn that marked your road. Your quaint, quiet little street lay in front of you. Thankfully, it was far too early on the weekend for anyone to be up and about. Every house you passed still had their curtains drawn, windows dark. As you drew closer to your home you instinctively reached for your house keys, finding them right where they always were, tucked safely in the first pocket of your purse. Your purse, you thought, your keys. He had made sure you had everything before you left.

Your stomach flip-flopped as you paused on your front step, key in hand halfway to the lock. He had been far too wonderful to just be a one-night thing. You blushed as you shoved your key in the lock with a shaking hand. The phantom of a thought crossed your mind that this could be yours and his house. He could be coming home to you. As you opened the door and crossed the threshold, you snuffed out the thought. Breathing in the familiar air of yours and John’s home; scented with his favorite laundry detergent, the mix of his colognes and your perfumes, the faint smell of lavender wicking into the stale air from the oil diffuser, it felt almost sacrilegious to think of another man like that.

It was just a one-time thing, you told yourself. Just a fling and nothing more.

You shook your head at yourself as you stripped off your jacket and shoes, your purse discarded haphazardly on the table. You checked the space where John’s jacket and shoes usually were. Still gone. The house was untouched from how you had left it last night. Strangely, it didn’t bother you that you had slept with another man. You searched your heart for guilt as you robotically went about your usual routine, but it just wasn’t there. You should have stopped right there, questioned yourself, maybe even called your husband to work through what should have been a turning point; a huge breach to the contract of your relationship. You didn’t, though. In that moment, you just couldn’t find it within yourself to care.

John had hurt you. He was growing more and more emotionally distant by the day. He had cut you off from your friends and family when he moved you out here and then severed your last tie to the outside world when he convinced you to stop working. You had been such a fucking fool to fall into his trap. You had nothing and he had everything. Money, power, control, it was all in his hands. Fuck him, you told yourself as you pushed open the door to the downstairs bathroom; the one John used when he slept in the guest bedroom. He did this to himself, you fumed. He deserves it.Deserves to be hurt for once.

Kyle, though, Kyle had cared about you.

You struck the invasive thoughts from your mind as you shut yourself in the tiny, tile-lined bathroom. You needed to take a shower, to wash him from you and be done with this petty journey of revenge. You needed to be cleansed of the outside world to return purified into this one again. Stripping off your clothes, though, you were struck with the sinking reminder that it wouldn’t be the easy task you’d imagined. Your thighs were marred with irritated red blotches and tiny, almost imperceptible, semicircles of dents. Plain evidence of the bites your fling had scattered around your sex.

He’d stopped to do that every so often; pulling away just as he’d worked you to that delicious, spiraling peak right before you tipped over into bliss. The wet heat of his tongue on your clit replaced with sharp nips of teeth that had you begging please let me cum please please, Kyle, please.

The band of his arm was iron-fast around your middle, his hands strong around your thighs. He had you right where he wanted and seemed more than satisfied to keep you there for the time being. He bit at the skin of your mons, right above your clit; right where you really wanted him. Through your squirms and whines, he simply held you down and shushed you quietly – soft and gentle kisses replacing bites as your pleasure receded – until your pleas faded into sighs and his bedroom fell silent once more.

You scrubbed shampoo through your hair, unaware how long you’d been standing under the cool spray. You rinsed and quickly worked conditioner through the ends of your hair before slathering yourself with body wash, intent on finishing your shower before the last of the hot water ran out. You couldn’t afford to stand in the stall any longer: daydreaming about how many times he brought you right up to that blissful high before cruelly pulling away just to work you back up again. You needed to wash him off of you. His heady, slightly sweet, cologne. The smoke and nicotine that decidedly wasn’t your husband’s cigars. Needed every particle that wasn’t your own, normal smell gone before-

There was a sound from somewhere in the house: the shuffling and clicking of something achingly familiar. You shut the water off in a panic. Over the dripping from the shower head you could barely hear it. The front door closing. The little sounds continued: shoes dropping onto the boot tray, keys jangling as they clattered against the counter, a jacket softly shuffling as it was dropped over a chair and not on it’s place on the empty hook in the hall. Everything added up to only one possibility: John was home.

Fuck, you swore over and over as you scrambled out of the shower; at yourself, at him, at the guy who fucked your brains out last night, at god. Someone had to be to blame for the royal mess you were in. You toweled yourself semi-dry in a whirlwind, stopping only to listen with baited breath for where John was, what he was doing. Nothing unusual, from what you could hear beyond the bathroom. You wiped off the mirror, glaring back at the misty reflection that greeted you like you were both Medusa and Perseus. You checked both sides of your neck quickly. No redness. No bites. You breathed a sigh of relief that somehow wasn’t relieving at all. Still, you grabbed John’s ugly plaid robe off the back of the door and rolled the collar up until it dusted your jaw. You couldn’t be too careful.

Chucking your towel in the bin with your clothes, you finally made your exit. With an extravagant plume of steam following you, you opened the door intending to quickly steal upstairs where you could dress and avoid your husband for the rest of the day. He was waiting for you though. Eyes soft and full of love, slouching lazily against the back of the couch to catch you as soon as the door opened.

“There she is,” he purred, gathering you in the inescapable embrace of his arms. You let out a gasp at his suddenness as he kissed the wet crown of your head, a hum of satisfaction on his lips. “There’s my lovey,” he said stroking down your back, as if he was trying to convince you this is how he was, how it always was. “How was the shower? Relaxing?” he asked, loosening his grip. You took your opportunity, possibly the only one he would give you, and slithered out of his grasp.

“Fine!” you called behind you as you thudded up the stairs.

You didn’t stop running until the door to the master bedroom slammed shut behind you. You lay your back against it; panting and heart hammering in your chest as you waited. John didn’t follow you. You heard him walk around downstairs; making something to eat in the kitchen before turning on the TV. He probably thinks you’re still mad at him, you told yourself. Good. You dressed in your usual lounging-about-the-house clothes while inspecting the rest of your body for any errant love-bites or marks you might have missed before slipping back downstairs.

You and John shared a terse, awkward morning. You floated around each other, never lingering too long in each other’s presence. If you entered a room, he left it. Beyond that, he followed his usual routine: laundering his bag of gross gym-clothes, making up the guest bed, paper, lunch, out for a smoke, a football match. It wasn’t until he wandered in the kitchen while you were making dinner for the both of you – by force of habit – that he spoke to you again.

“’m sorry f’ how I’ve been lately,” he said laying his large hands on the stone counter top behind you, the one he wanted, his shoulders squared forward. His apology was a shock, making you pause at the food in the pan you were stirring. You looked back at him, waiting for something else. What else, you didn’t know. You suspect he didn’t know either, because his pale blue eyes plead with you to shore up the difference, finish his own apology because he’s not good with words, love, go on ‘n make this right to yourself.

You turned back to your mushrooms sizzling in the thickening gravy. Silence fell for only a moment before John sighed behind you.

“I know it’s hard, love. Trust me, I know,” he said, the counter creaking as he leaned against it.

You steeled your back; not answering, not turning around. Oh, he knew what it was like to be left alone now? That was rich. He was the one always leaving you. Promising you he would be around more once you got married, once you bought the house, once he got his promotion. Promises, promises, promises. How much longer would it go on? When would you be able to believe him? Once you had your first child? Your third? In five, ten, fifteen years? Or would you be a widow by then?

His hands skimming your hips interrupted your stewing. He groaned as he pressed himself to your back, a gentle kiss ghosting your ear. “Miss you so bad, love. Miss bein’ home with you.”

Miss you. Miss you. Miss you. You thought, body drawn taught and dangerous under his wandering hands. So easy to be missed, John, when you’re never fucking here.

You clicked off the burner, shoving the bubbling skillet of gravy away as you slipped out of your husband’s arms for the second time today. He didn’t fight to keep you there. You knew what he was planning, knew all of his old tricks already. He would butter you up with soft words and half-apologies, pour you a few glasses of wine while watching your favorite movie for once before whisking you upstairs to make it all better in bed between your thighs. Rinse. Repeat. Rinse. Repeat. Everything would be back to how he liked it: his nice, pliant wife happily tucked away in his bungalow while he was out saving the world. If even that was true.

You weren’t out of the kitchen before John was sputtering, “But what about-”

“Not hungry anymore,” you muttered, tears spilling down your cheeks as you ran back upstairs, emotions rapidly fraying apart. You couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t let him touch you. Not now.

Not anymore.

-

[kneworder]

ok call me crazy but like as much as the belinda pornchai breakup is paralleling the belinda tanya fuckover you have got to acknowledge that these are VERY different situations. tanya told belinda she believed in her and wanted to fund a business then flaked time and time again, getting her hopes up every time just to leave her in the dust over nothing. belinda and pornchai genuinely really liked each other and respected each others' work but their relationship was built on a romantic connection that could have maybe had a business element -- belinda choosing to get the fuck outta dodge after the greg deal despite the one night stand and some wishful thinking about starting a spa together is NOT the same as tanya telling belinda she wants to fund her dream and then saying she actually won't for personal reasons.

[starryiguess]

Boothill Touchstarved HC

Boothill x GN! Reader. goofy goober is a little touchstarved

★ I feel like Boothill would value skinship. Most of his body is machinery and he can’t really feel you. His head is the only exception because that is the one that survived the impact.

★ He might grumble on how annoying it is for you to pinch his cheeks, but let’s be fr, bro is touch STARVED.

★ He is really good with kids. (Not going to elaborate). THOUGH, RANDOM IDEA, WHAT IF CLARA AND BOOTHILL MET?? That would be so cute like genuinely. Father-daughter bond right there.

★ He would be really gentle with you. Boothill has that lingering, soft touch that feels like a feather brushed your skin. He knows how valuable human life is; he used to be human himself. Because of that, he’ll appreciate the smaller things more.

★ He’ll really try to hide his feelings, but you can tell how he’s truly feeling.

Your warm hands squeezes his cheeks. It’s unbearably warm on his face. Boothill lets out a steady breath as he relaxes, closing his eyes. He can feel every curve of your palm. The way it presses, rubs, and… pinches?!?

His eyes widened in shock from the sensation.

(Insert Boothill asking why Reader is pinching his cheeks)

(Reader asking if he wants them to stop).

(Insert silence and hesitant look on Boothill’s side).

[Sorry, it’s kind unfinished, but I didn’t know how to write the rest of the parts so you can use your imagination]. (╥﹏╥)

[starry-night-author]

June of Doom Day #28

"Say something." | Cold Shoulder | Gag |

June Of Doom Prompt List @juneofdoom

"Oh Herooooooo," Villain singsonged as they stepped into the dark room. Hero sat facing away from them, shoulders relaxed, head down. "Still hanging out in here, are you?"

No response.

Villain pulled up an office chair behind them, flopping down and leaning back, hands behind their head. "Superhero not letting you attack random villains again? That must be soooo hard for you."

Hero didn't so much as move.

Villain scowled, rolled their eyes. Hero really was rubbing it in thick. "Can't believe you don't even have a babysitter anymore, did Superhero get tired of dealing with you?"

That didn't even get a raise out of them, the way it usually would.

With a frustrated groan, Villain stood, pacing behind them. "Look, I'm sorry, okay?! It was my fault that you were given the wrong information, but I didn't know you were going to stake your entire mission on it! And you were mean to me when I was explaining the layout to you, so you deserve it." Villain pouted.

Seconds went by. No response.

Villain rolled their eyes. "Look, you don't have to be this rude about it, you're fine, nothing bad happened! And I'm not apologizing again."

Nothing.

"Hero?"

The only sign that Hero was even alive was from their breathing.

Finally, Villain moved to storm off. "Fine, then. I'll give you space."

No response.

"Say something, you idiot."

Silence.

Now fed up, Villain turned back to them, nudging their shoulder. "Hero come on, this is petty-"

Hero slipped sideways as Villain pushed them, and it was only Villain's quick movements that stopped them from falling out of the seat. Villain caught them, gasping as they caught sight of their face.

Hero was very much unconscious, and there was a band of silver tape over their mouth. Their head lolled back on Villain's shoulder, and that's when they caught sight of the envelope placed in Hero's arms.

It was signed by Supervillain.

Villain's heart dropped.

[eternalstarlitwonderland]

STARRYWAVE☆彡

Nightfall has fallen; the starlight delicately permeates the shoreline, casting a soft brilliance

The ethereal glimmer of starlight twinkled above, casting a soft, enchanting glow across the horizon

Below, the deep sea shimmered with a silvery-white radiance as if the moon's kiss had turned the water into a canvas of luminous jewels

The shoreline, adorned with pristine, snowy white sands, appeared blanketed in a carpet of sparkling stars that twinkled incessantly, vying for attention against the vast night sky

On a serene evening, a young girl named Peyton ventured into the enchanting embrace of the night

An avid astrophile at her core, she reveled in the beauty of astronomy, embracing the profound stillness of the universe above her

As she gazed upward, the myriad of twinkling lights glimmered overhead and sparkled like a sea of diamonds scattered throughout, their ethereal light dancing against velvety darkness, and it seemed to wink playfully down at her

The rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shoreline provided a soothing symphony, a soundtrack to her thoughts

The night air was intoxicating, sharp, and crisp as it caressed her delicate face and brushed gently against her porcelain skin, sending shivers cascading down her spine

Like a fiery cascade, her ruby tresses fluttered gracefully in the evening zephyr, each strand catching the light in a delicate display

Beneath the moon's silvery glow, her striking sapphire eyes sparkled brilliantly, reflecting the brilliance of the silvery glimmers scattered across the sky as if she held a piece of the universe within her gaze

Strolling along the sandy littoral, the icy caress of the ocean waves lapping at her bare feet, sending a shiver up her spine and making her acutely aware of the briskness of the sea

The stark chill contrasted with the warmth of her excitement as she shared a moment of intimacy with the ocean's vastness; each splash was a thrill, a connection to the world around her

The silvery froth of the tide enveloped the shoreline, swirling around her ankles and leaving behind a trail of glistening droplets, creating a shimmering pathway that mirrored the coruscant stars above

In that fleeting moment, she felt as though she could reach out and touch the scintillant stars, each opalescent jewel in the vastness of the night, shimmering back at her in their silvery billow

She lifted her gaze to the expansive silvery stratosphere, where the stars sparkled like scattered diamonds against the velvety canvas

These celestial jewels flickered with a perpetual flame, casting a mesmerizing glow that danced gently over the tranquil moonlit shoreline

Enveloped in its silvery pearlescence, wrapped in the gentle embrace of the moonlit radiance, she felt a soothing warmth enveloping her, as if the night cradled her in its tender arms

The pearlescent waves, dressed in silvery attire, cascaded rhythmically onto the shore, leaving behind a lace-like froth of pewter, delicately tracing the snowy sands, sparkling like crushed pearls

Each wave receded and deposited delicate, pewter froth; at the same time, myriad effulgent stars blanketed the seascape, leaving behind glistening traces of sea foam that glimmered under the starlit empyrean, the celestial bodies casting a spell over the coastline, blanketing the seashore in a brilliant tapestry of light, enhancing the night's magic and the coastal landscape's serene beauty

She knelt gracefully upon the cool, silken sand, her fingers grazing the cool, damp sand as she retrieved one of the shimmering coruscant stars, delicately brushing the grains away

As she delicately dusted the grains, she marveled at how its crystalline surface captured the light, creating a prism of colors that danced before her eyes

Holding it in her hand, she saw her own visage mirrored on its crystalline reflection, the fragile beauty of her features captured within the radiant gemstone

The rhythmic, silvery waves danced upon the shoreline, a familiar lullaby that repeated in her mind, their gentle whispers weaving into the night’s ambiance, inviting her to immerse herself in the tranquil beauty around her and lulling her into a meditative state

The star ignited with a fiery brilliance, casting waves of golden warmth that enveloped her like a gentle embrace

She basked in its golden luminescence and felt its soothing caress enveloping her, feeling a deep sense of solace wash over her, bathed in its shimmery essence

Tears welled up in her eyes, glistened with emotion as she stood beneath its brilliance, and bathed in its pearly tint

She softly shimmered in the radiant glow as the celestial body's warmth washed over her and merged with her heart's tenderness, stirring emotions within her

Her delicate and glittering tears cascaded down her cheeks, transforming into an iridescent stream that sparkled like a crystalline elixir, reflecting the myriad colors of the cosmos

This opalescent mirror mingled with the myriad coruscant stars above, each twinkling in harmony, each tiny pinprick of light twinkling brilliantly, creating a celestial display that sparkled like diamonds scattered across a silvery strand of night

The cascades of light were mesmerizing, and though she was crying, it was not borne of sadness or even sorrow; instead, they flowed in joyful celebration, manifesting her profound happiness; her tears were a testament to her overwhelming happiness, a celebration of the moment that filled her soul with pure, unadulterated joy, and illuminated her spirit as brightly as the stars above

Awakening to the profound connection between the sea and the starlight, one can perceive the ethereal pearly froth dancing upon the silken surface of the waves as they

gracefully embrace the shoreline, mingling with the pristine, snowy sands

Like a celestial artist from the heavens, the starlight bestows its brilliance upon the ocean, transforming each wave into a sparkling tapestry adorned with glittering stars that seem to drift like diamonds scattered upon the surface

In return, the sea offers the starlight a mesmerizing marina, where the waves swell like a velvet curtain, presenting an opulent display of pearlescent billows that rise and fall, forming a stunning exchange between the two realms

The vast, star-studded sky spread like a dazzling tapestry above her, mirrored by the shimmering silvery shore beneath her feet

On the pristine littoral, the opaline hues of the atmosphere above danced with one bathed in the soft glow of the starlight, she radiated an otherworldly beauty; another, casting ethereal reflections across the gentle silver billows that rolled on the horizon

Peyton lifted her gaze to the enchanting hues of the opalescent sky, where the faintest shimmer reflected in her cerulean eyes, igniting them with a delicate effulgence

The gentle breeze caressed her skin like a tender whisper, and her vibrant crimson hair swayed gracefully in the velvety zephyr that whispered secrets of the night, cascading like a silk waterfall and even adding a fiery contrast to the calm serenity around her, enhancing her ethereal presence

With every soft breath radiating a delicate brilliance, her skin glowing with a pearlescent sheen that enhanced her porcelain complexion, casting a soft, heavenly aura around her as though she were a celestial being gracing the earth for a brief moment

The sea again embraced the pearly shore with its gentle, silvery billows rolling in with a soothing rhythm

While the milky froth playfully kissed the immaculate sands

As it receded, it left behind a sparkling strewn tapestry of glittering stars dancing upon and delicately leaves that whispered secrets of the ocean that sparkled like tiny gems in the morning light

She stood on the shimmering littoral, mesmerized by the scene, when suddenly, a flurry of fluorescent butterflies emerged from the air, their wings aglow, signaling to her that the time to depart was drawing near

With a sense of bittersweet longing, she tilted her gaze toward the silvery-white empyrean, she drank in the last glimmers of starlight as they twinkled down upon her; the brilliant shimmer offered her a final and comforting reassuring glow like distant friends bidding her farewell

Though the light of some of the stars had begun to fade, like embers in a dying fire, the bright flicker held a stubborn glow that still persisted, unwavering and clinging to the fleeting moments

As the starlit hour gradually faded, she noted with a wistful heart how the stars dimmed one by one, their light softly retreating into the depths of the night, becoming fainter and fainter by the very heartbeat

Then, she sensed a shift was upon her, a transition leading her into the unknown

Suddenly, an iridescent butterfly flitted towards her, its kaleidoscopic radiance shimmering softly in the twilight, a delicate beacon of change

Out of the gentle dusk, an iridescent butterfly glided gracefully toward her,

its kaleidoscopic hues shimmering with a soft effervescence, it flickered softly in the twilight, its delicate form beckoning her closer

With a serene grace, enchanted, she extended her hand toward the exquisite creature, yearning to touch its ethereal beauty, her touch light as a whisper

Her fingertips brushed against its delicate form, she felt the fragile wings quiver beneath her gentle caress, feeling a delicate connection that seemed to transcend reality

The rhythmic crashing of waves against the shore sang a lullaby while the pearlescent stars, one last time, were lovingly bestowed upon the sands by the sea's milky froth

In an exquisite crescendo, a brilliant cascade of light erupted between them, enveloping her in an ethereal glow that warmed her soul and felt like a gentle embrace from the universe itself

She felt herself being lifted, she was swept away into a dreamlike realm where the enchanting sea and the twinkling starlight coalesced harmoniously, intertwined in a dance of ethereal beauty, intricately woven with a silvery thread that sparkled against the twilight backdrop, creating a tapestry of ethereal beauty transcending reality's boundaries